The More Difficult Route

By Aysha Alani / Fall 2020

When the American-Iraq war broke out in 2003, I was only a five years old child who spent most of my time playing with my cousins. I could not comprehend why everyone around me was in such a panic when they heard planes and missiles falling, because I simply did not know what they were. I still remember my cousins and I climbing to the top story of our house in Iraq to collect the bullet shells from the night before, pretending that whoever collects the most shells wins. One day, our living room windows shattered from being hit so hard by a bomb that went off near-by. I witnessed my distant relatives and neighbors help us cushion our windows so they do not break during explosions, we exchanged food, and even slept under the same roof at times to feel more comfort. Since then, I dreamed of a better life free of fear. My father decided that it was only right to move us to Syria, the neighboring country to Iraq, where it was safe to live without fears. As a child, that was good enough for me, yet, there were no jobs and no source of income for my family. I saw my parents panic again, and feeling helpless because there was nothing I could do to help. I was living in a one bedroom apartment with my mother, father, grandmother, and great grandmother.

A year after living in Syria, my father decided to send my mom, sister, and me to Europe for a chance to start a new life. My mother sold all of her gold that she got when she married in order to afford this trip, and we were off to a new country (Sweden) without our father. I was afraid because I have never heard of what Sweden was like, the only country I was familiar with was the United States, what I thought was the greatest, most powerful country in the world. Our journey was cut short, and we were sent back to Syria. My mother and father were devastated at the loss. However, my mom convinced my dad to apply for the International Organization for Migration. It seemed impossible, almost everyone that  my father told this plan to laughed and called it a sort of imagination. With all of that going on, I still had hope. I watched American movies filmed in New York and was in love with the city, saw the diversity of people in American shows, and was convinced that it was a place for justice and equality.

After another year of waiting in Syria, we were called for an interview with the IOM to be moved to the United States. I remember waking up at around 5am to get ready for the interview, even though I was not going to be interviewed but only my parents. I was excited to come to the greatest country in the world, and I came. We left Syria when I was a mere 10 years old. My father promised me that I would love the United States, and that it was an opportunity for my sister and I to have a good future and make our dreams come true. One thing that my father kept repeating to me and that became a part of what I pictured about the American dream is the ability of being independent as a woman. I dreamed of working very hard, which meant that I could achieve my goals. “no one who works hard will suffer in the United States” I thought. When I landed in the United States, it was a different story.

I enrolled in 5th grade with zero knowledge of the English language, and I was bullied for it daily. I felt embarrassed to dress up because my classmates would make fun of my outfits, even if it was a simple T-shirt and jeans. When I came home crying every day, my dad would tell me to inform my teacher, and that she will take care of it. This is when I realized that things were not as just as I would have thought. My teacher did not do anything to the kids that bullied me, instead, she called my parents to complain about my behavior when I did not want to go outside for recess since I felt too ashamed to walk alone while all the other kids played together. I felt like an outsider and like I did not belong with my classmates. My parents decided to move again for my sake, I was not learning and it was becoming emotionally straining to attend school while feeling like an outsider.

After moving, I attended a middle school that was mostly African-American dominated. This is where I felt like I belonged. The kids were nice to me, walked me to the bus and showed me the location of my classes. They helped me with my school work, and sat with me during lunch. I never felt alone, and I was living the imagined “American Dream”. It was not until High school that I realized the real reason why I felt belongingness with African-American Kids more than I did in a white-Dominated school. Although I was not “of color”, I was considered a minority. I realized that the American dream only applied to a certain type of people with certain class. I could not just “work hard” and achieve my dreams since there are many obstacles in my way that prevents me from doing what I dream of doing. I am a woman who wants to become a doctor, and I am Middle Eastern and Muslim. To some “Americans”, I am not even a complete person, I am a savage with no civilized background because I am not European white.

I learned that my idea of the American Dream is distorted when I came across two big events. First was when I could not speak English. I was not taking the same courses as my peers because I simply could not, making me fall behind all of them in English and science. This consequently could have cost me more years in high school and possibly even college if I did not learn the language quickly enough. Secondly was when I was studying for my MCAT just this past summer. I knew that I am not a good test taker. I have a 4.0 as a Human Biology major, but I get extremely nervous when I take a standardized test. I looked into a course, and found one that promised at least a 510, with one on one tutoring and coaching. To me, this is just what I needed until I was told it costs $9,800. I come from a working class family, and there was no way for my parents to have that amount of money ready to be paid. When I told my father, he told me to ask them if they can finance it, and that he will get me the money if I felt like I needed it. I was told no, there was no financing, and that the money needs to be paid in one big payment. This solidified to me that moving up the social ladder is not just by working hard. The system of success is built mainly for people who are already successful and want their children to succeed.

The American dream of working hard to achieve your goal is only applicable for those who have funds and connections. It fails to consider immigrants who came to the United States seeking a new life with not much money. There is no way for me to make a large payment of $9,800 to take a course, does that mean that I will never become a doctor? No. I plan on studying hard and pursuing my dream, but it will be a much more difficult route than others who may have tutors at the tip of their hands. As I continue to grow daily, I become more aware of how the media portrays the United States and the American Dream. It puts on a façade that the entire world dreams of obtaining. Unfortunately, when they get here, they quickly realize that it is very different from what it portrays on the media. There is still injustice and prejudice based on skin color, gender, and religion. There is a divide amongst people of different classes, allowing the powerful to continue being powerful and passing on their power, while poor people are doing the same for their kids and reproducing poor children who are just as smart as the rich children. I only hope that as time goes by, students realize how the system is operating and opt to aid one another instead of pressing others down to allow them to climb up the social ladder.